Before the sun had set, Frederick Dane and
Antonio Fero and Michael Chevalier and the Honorable
Mr. Walk-in-the-Water and Eben Kartschoff arrived with
an express-wagon driven by a stepson of P. Nolan.
There is no difficulty at Faneuil Hall in bringing out
a few trestles and as many boards as one wants for
tables, for Faneuil Hall is a place given to
hospitality. And so, before six o'clock, the hour
assigned for the extemporized dinner, the tables were
set with turkeys, with geese, with venison, with mallards
and plover, with quail and partridges, with cranberry and
squash, and with dishes of Russia and Italy and Greece
and Bohemia, such as have no names. The Greeks brought
fruits, the Indians brought venison, the Italians
brought red wine, the French brought walnuts and
chestnuts, and the good God sent a blessing. Almost
every man found up either a wife or a sweetheart or a
daughter or a niece to come with him, and the feast went
on to the small hours of Friday. The Mayor came down on
time, and being an accomplished man, addressed them in
English, in Latin, in Greek, in Hebrew, and in Tuscan.
And it is to be hoped that they understood him.
But no record has ever been made of the feast in any
account-book on this side the line. Yet there are those
who have seen it, or something like it, with the eye of
faith.
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